


When it Rains

by Anonymous



Category: Durarara!!
Genre: Angst, Awakusu-Kai, Celty Sturluson - Freeform, Established Relationship, Hanejima Yuhei, Harima Mika - Freeform, Heiwajima Kasuka - Freeform, Izaya you idiot, M/M, Mentions other characters, Orihara Kururi - Freeform, Orihara Mairu - Freeform, Russian Mafia, Unintentionally Abusive Relationship, Yagiri Namie - Freeform, Yagiri Seiji - Freeform, i dont know what else to tag this, slow build ish
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-30
Updated: 2015-04-26
Packaged: 2018-03-20 09:14:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3644847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Izaya and Shizuo fight nearly every day, and the constant destruction and violent outbursts are beginning to take a toll on their relationship. Izaya doesn't let it show, but their never-ending clashing and the resulting injuries are beginning to take a toll on him. But Shizuo's anger isn't completely unfounded. His anger comes from suspicion--and he's right.</p>
<p>Izaya is hiding something. But the question remains--what?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. the nature of innocence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! This is my first post to ao3 :D
> 
> I'm probably going to edit this first chapter, and rename this work at some point, just fyi.
> 
> So, uhhh... yeah. I don't know how to make summaries yet. Plus I'm currently sleep-deprived and recovering from an anime binge (go watch zankyou no terror after reading this guys), so the summary will probably change too. 
> 
> I have pretty much everything but the second chapter written out (I wrote this out of order, idrk why, it just happened), so once I have that written out, I should be able to post a chapter a week. Please comment! I love comments (and you as well, future commentor!)
> 
>  
> 
> IMPORTANT NOTE: Italics count for both interior dialogue (the character's thoughts) and flashbacks. So if you're confused this first chapter... yeah. The italics are flashbacks.

 

 

 

 

 

Izaya wonders why he hasn’t given up yet. Is it pride? Is it hope? Persistence?

 

Maybe it’s just a bad habit--some sort of miserable rut he’s gotten himself stuck in. Maybe it’s all of the above.

 

It’s all so familiar by now that part of him welcomes it. 

 

“IIIIIIZZAAAAAAYAAAAAAAAA…” The grumble that gurgles under the harsh syllables of his name sparks a feeling in Izaya’s chest that shouldn’t belong there, but is now inexplicably familiar.

 

The feeling of coldness at his back, the stench of cigarettes, the dizzying rush of adrenaline, and the way the world around him becomes muted all except for his focus on one thing--all of it is painfully familiar. He flicks open his switch blade, slices an elegant arc through the air with a smirk on his face, and feels like he’s waving hello to a  very good, and very old, friend; a friend with whom his history goes back so far that their strings of fate aren’t simply tied together--they are one and the same, split but destined to converge and form one again.

 

At least, this is what Izaya likes to think. This is his justification.

 

“Yes, Shizu-chan?”

 

The look in Shizuo's eyes is feral, intense, and churning with emotions that Izaya would have a hard time distinguishing even if he were less emotionally invested himself. The thought--the notion of having a reason to  _care_ past the point of pure fascination and desire to observe--jolts him, if only for a moment, and as he dodges the microwave that had just been sent hurtling towards his face at the speed of a truck barreling down a highway, he thinks back to when it had all started.

 

 

 

_Do you think about that day as much as I do, Shizu-chan? Do you remember the way the light broke through the clouds, the way the breeze blew right through our clothes? Did it ever mean as much to you as it does to me?_

 

 

 

“IZAYAAAA… Are you _trying_ to get me mad?!? What did I say about bringing your dirty work home?!?”  
  


Izaya only tilts his head down to the side and crouches slightly lower, shifting his weight in preparation. With his hair shadowing his face, his eyes seem to glow and his smirk looks even deadlier. He gives a nonchalant shrug and flippantly waves his hand.

“I don’t quite remember. Would you remind me? Oh wait. Maybe I do remember. Ah, yes! You said that you were grateful for my  _dirty work_ since it’s what puts most of the food on the table… Right, Shizu-chan?” And because Izaya dances on the edge of blades and laughs at smoking guns trained on his back, he finishes off with a taunting grin.

 

 

_The boiling in the pit of my stomach is at odds with the harsh slap of cool rain on my skin.  I can barely feel the droplets sliding down my face and dripping off the tips of my hair._ _My skin is numb._ _But that's just on the surface--_

 

_The rest of me is fire and ice, rocks and water,_ _Izaya and Shizuo,_ _Shizuo and Izaya._

 

 

It’s a dance, an aggressive and graceful tango. On one side, a wild beast that sees red, on the other a deadly blur with crimson eyes. Swipe, dodge, leap, laugh. Dodge, punch, grab, growl. They’ve been doing this for so long that they can feel the shadow of their younger selves and the premonition of their future selves mirroring the same movements, reminders of every moment they’ve had together, reminders of the time they’ve spent, and reminders of the time they’ve lost.

 

And as they dance, Izaya bears the curse of awareness. He can see how this anger between them is slowly breaking and crumbling every shaky foundation they built, he can see how being trapped in this rhythm of destruction does more than up the property damage fees. While Shizuo simply follows the footsteps he’s tread his whole life, Izaya looks ahead and knows how close the cliff edge comes.   
  
He’ll try to evade it anyways.

 

_It’s so cliché, I almost laugh. Almost. The words should be at the tip of my tongue; I should be marvelling at the way humans gravitate towards behavioral patterns that society and social media make attractive to them, but there’s something else replacing the words._

 

Izaya will never let him know, but he lost this battle years ago. Even with all his cunning and agility, even with all of the times when he just barely escaped, leaving behind only the memory of his triumphant smile, he always loses.

 

Shizuo has one advantage over him.

 

 

 

_It was your mouth, Shizu-chan._

 

 

 

Shizuo must never know.

 

Shizuo must never know that this deal, this unspoken language of fists and blades and scratches and bruises, had already been called off.

 

Despite the number of times they've faced off and the number of times Izaya had left Shizuo screaming, incoherent with rage, in the dust and clutching only the echoes of his laughter, despite the countless times Izaya had to brave a smile while he ignored the bruises and the imprints of convenience store trash cans and vending machines throbbing from where they made contact with his body, Izaya's true intention is not to hurt Shizuo.

 

 

 

_I never liked the smell of cigarettes. But when the taste comes with the press of your lips against mine, with the feeling of your fingers gripping the hood on my jacket, with my hands awkwardly pinned between us and on your chest, it seems all too fitting--like the warmth that your skin radiates, like the tingling in my toes, like the raindrops that splatter on my cheek after dripping off the edges of those stupid sunglasses you wear even if it’s raining, like the fact that it’s you and it’s me and we’re finally, finally here, making the impossible possible, kissing in the rain like some stupidly sappy chick flick._

 

 

It never had been.

 

_And on that day, when we kissed in the rain, we were innocent._

 

_You had no idea what you had just agreed to, and I thought I’d be able to handle what was to come for the both of us._ _For once, I was ignorant. For once, I was foolish. But y_ _ou gave me something I could have never experienced otherwise, and for that, I’ll take being ignorant. I’ll take being foolish._

_That, is the nature of innocence._

 

_And when the innocence shatters like the illusion it is, I hope you remember. You kissed me, too, that day, Shizu-chan. Though one day you’ll come to regret it, I never will._

 

 

 

_  
Orihara Izaya never regrets. That much, I can give you._

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *cringes* imsorryireallyshouldeditthismore (even though i did rewrite it like three times) butstillthisisahorriblefirstchapterthere'slikenoexpositionimsosorry
> 
> okay yeah.
> 
> errr.
> 
> In case you're confused, the flashbacks are just showing Izaya's memories of his first kiss with Shizuo (while it was raining AWWWWW HOW CUTE) and the rest is just Shizuo being angry at Izaya and Izaya recognizing how their constant fighting may be detrimental to their relationship and his health. 
> 
> And then there's that confusing conceptual part that was executed really poorly that basically is trying to say that because of what Izaya feels for Shizuo, during their fights he's always at a disadvantage, which results in him getting hurt more often than he might otherwise.
> 
>  
> 
> Is it bad that I feel the need to explain everything that happened in this chapter? 
> 
>  
> 
> Eh. Probably. (sorry again. I'll try harder next time, I promise! Please don't leave me D:)
> 
>  
> 
> If you have any suggestions or if you think anything sounds awkward, please comment and let me know!


	2. you can cry over spilt tea

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay! I wasn't sure if this update would come on time, but it has. Woot woot.
> 
> Much thanks to all of those who left kudos and ESPECIALLY all of those who left comments (ilyvvvvvvvvvm)
> 
> Just fyi, I did edit the last chapter (and, if you didn't notice, the story's summary). The changes are minor, but if you read anything here that sounds familiar, it's because I deleted it from the last chapter and added it here.
> 
>  
> 
> I hope you like it! Please comment any or all of your thoughts :)

 

 

 

 

 

Shizuo’s footsteps thunder up the stairs, the metal crinkling under the weight of his shoes as he tries hard to not bite the cigarette in his mouth in half. He hated everything about this place—the stench of the flea, the posh neighbors and modern design, the shady car parked around the corner that he knew had something to do with Izaya.

 

 _Damn him_. Didn’t the damn flea say he’d start meeting his clients outside of the apartment once Shizuo moved in with him?

 

 _Why_ did he agree to move in with him again?

 

He bursts into their apartment, ripping the door knob out of their front door as he swings it open, forcing the hinges to creak painfully, and slamming the door outwards with enough force to create a network of hair-thin cracks along the plaster of the walls before he barrels his way in.

 

There’s a man with a scar on his face, smoking a cigarette. Something about the way he turns his head to stare at Shizuo makes his skin crawl. He recognizes that look, and the way the thugs that accompany him take position once they catch sight of him. There’s no doubt about it.

 

Yakuza.

 

Just what the hell are they doing here? The yakuza and Izaya—there’s a bad combination if he’s ever seen one.

 

Shizuo grinds his teeth and exhales harshly.

 

“Orihara.” The man does not take his eyes off Shizuo.

 

Shizuo has to stop himself for answering for Izaya— _get out get out get out I’ll kill him I’ll kill him I’ll kill him kill kill kill killkillkillkillkillKILLKILLKI—_

 

Izaya’s laugh is deceptively bright and childish.

 

“Yes,” he drags his voice out in a questioning, teasing taunt, catching Shizuo’s eyes for a brief moment before continuing on, “Shiki-san?”

 

Shiki brushes past Shizuo, and Shizuo stiffens and sneers at their proximity.

 

_Scum._

 

“I’ve warned you. Don’t get in our way.”

 

Izaya waves as the man leaves.

 

He’s sure the yakuza can hear him as he roars Izaya’s name and part of him welcomes the fury that creeps in on the edges of his vision. Before he knows it, they’re fighting again.

 

 

He only catches snippets of what Izaya says at first—most of his mind is focused on the dark pit of anger that swirls in his chest.

 

 

A blink, and the microwave is in his hands. Another, and Izaya’s form has been displaced about half a foot to his left, and the microwave is coughing up smoke in the opposite corner.

 

 

“IZAYAAAA… Are you _trying_ to get me mad?!? What did I _say_ about bringing your dirty work home?!?”

 

The sofa might as well be made of cardboard, and the coffee table might as well be paper. They crumble under the force of his anger, and the lack of solidity and resistance makes it so that Shizuo can’t keep the thoughts away— _who is he, what did he want, why was here, Izaya just what are you up to?_

 

Izaya doesn’t seem fazed by the damage to his furniture—this is probably the seventh set they’ve destroyed in the month that they’ve been cohabiting the space. Shizuo wonders, briefly, if Izaya is paying the landlord extra or if he’s paying off their neighbors to keep them from complaining.

 

He finds that this thought infuriates him even more.

 

He can smell the remnants of Shiki’s cigarette in the air, and it leaves a bitter taste in his mouth. Izaya may call him a protozoan and a beast, but he knows familiarity when he sees it.

 

Either the yakuza have been loyal clients or Izaya’s been—

 

His mind is broken by the giggles that erupt from Izaya as he dodges flying kitchen cutlery. He fails to notice the bruises around Izaya’s left wrist, or the way he favors one leg over another. He doesn’t know that when his fist grazed Izaya’s cheek as he spun around the corner the day before, Izaya’s knee hit the brick wall and left a purple bruise that ached every time he sat down. He doesn’t know that Izaya had let him catch him trying to snag an egg from his plate during breakfast that morning because he wanted him to reach out and touch him, even if it meant that the ghost of Shizuo’s fingers on his wrist still throbbed painfully as he gripped his blade.

 

In his rage, Shizuo is blind to everything. In his rage, Izaya is only a pesky insect, flitting to and fro, buzzing like an annoying and overactive fly, laughing like wind chimes in a chaotic storm, twisting and leaping through the air, a graceful, ephemeral blur that Shizuo can never grasp.

 

Shizuo swipes, unknowingly, from left to right, leaping forward with the shape of Izaya’s name imprinted on his lips. Izaya pivots on his good foot and his knife becomes a silver arc that just barely misses Shizuo’s nose. Their house of cards trembles and Shizuo is an angry boar, nostrils flaring and hooves pawing against the ground, rage palpable and rippling through the space, threatening to fill the entire space with nothing but the mantra in his head ( _killkillkillkillkillkillkillkillkillkillkillkillkillkillkillkill_ ).

 

  


There are three ways this conflict can end.

  
  
  


First, the fighting will escalate until it’s taken outside, and they’ll go at it until Izaya manages to escape from him. The next morning, he’ll come in with a cheery laugh, bringing with him some cold takeout as breakfast and a peace offering ( _early morning sun fragmented by the jagged edges of a broken window catches the mirth in his eyes in just the right way_ ). Shizuo will grudgingly accept it ( _he looks away from that smile because he doesn’t know what to do with the flutter in his chest and the tremble in his hands if he stares any longer_ ), even if it means he’ll end up breaking a few pairs of chopsticks while trying to eat it ( _he can’t seem to control himself around Izaya, dammit. Can’t he deal with these feelings after he’s fully awake?_ ). And if Izaya’s feeling vengeful, some of the food will have some…interesting surprises in them, but the devious bastard will find a way to plan the whole thing so that Shizuo won’t realize it until it’s too late ( _Izaya’s gone again, and Shizuo has to make do with a memory of that secretive smile while he drains six glasses of water—but the unfortunate taste of a mustard and wasabi combination will stay, sitting on his tongue, until he catches a glimpse of Izaya’s fur-lined jacket from out of the corner of his eye while beating up some random punk in the middle of the day_ ). If he’s feeling a bit apologetic, the takeout will be accompanied by a bottle of milk, and Izaya will sit with him and laugh at his table manners, or tease him about work, or update him with news about Kasuka’s latest project and what his fans think about it ( _even if Shizuo always threatens him when he reveals he’s been keeping tabs on his little brother_ ).

 

Second, after they’ve gone at it for a while, Simon or Celty will come and intervene, breaking things up ( _“Simon! You’re late! Couldn’t you have gotten here before the property damage fees reached half a million yen?”_ ).

 

Third, the tension will escalate, but before they can take it outside, they’ll end up fucking wildly against every flat (or broken) surface until Izaya’s throat is hoarse from mewling his name, until his fingers and toes begin to twitch as aftershocks from the rough pleasure shiver up and down his spine, until he sighs his nickname affectionately and promptly passes out ( _his cheeks remain slightly pink, his hair sticks unattractively to his forehead, and Shizuo shouldn’t think drool is cute, but somehow it is_ ). As an apology for the fact that he won’t be able to go out and meet clients (or walk, or sit up, or move his limbs more than an inch to the right or left) for another three days, Shizuo will go out in the morning and get Izaya ootoro from his favorite restaurant. When Shizuo walks into their bedroom and nudges him, he’ll sleepily murmur random strings of indecipherable code and refuse to relinquish the pillow until Shizuo rips it out from underneath his head. Then, Izaya will pout and sulk until Shizuo hands him the chopsticks ( _and after Shizuo catches sight of that atrocious sex hair, after Izaya lazily opens his sleep-fogged eyes and gives him a crooked half-smile, after he claps his hands excitedly and asks Shizuo to feed him, Shizuo will grudgingly oblige and always finds that after the exchange he will still need to take a cold shower in spite of it all_ ).

 

But right now Shizuo isn’t thinking about Izaya’s still-not-awake half-smile or his love for ootoro.

 

Right now, Shizuo is throwing punches left and right, attempting to corner Izaya against the dresser so he can get the wriggly pest to _stop moving_ —

 

And then Izaya’s face freezes in surprise as he slips. The tea he must have served when Shiki was over had spilled on the floor at some point during the fray, and Shizuo’s fist comes flying at him, full force, hitting him square in the chest and sending him flying across the room.

 

The glass vase shatters as Izaya’s leg knocks into the wooden stand, his arms smack loudly against the wall, creating a near-comical starfish pose, his head and neck are flung backwards, banging heavily, and Izaya’s eyes roll backwards for a few brief moments.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


There’s a beat of silence, and Izaya slowly slides down the wall, leaving smears of blood in his wake.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Haha, I think i still need to work on my sentence structure a little. My sentences tend to be long and a bit unwieldy. Hopefully the grammar is still consistent enough for you to understand what's going on without having to think about it too hard, though. If not, please let me know! I know that not much happened in this chapter, especially since it's almost a recap of the last chapter except from Shizuo's point of view (which is why this is tagged slow build ish) and things don't really pick up until the fourth chapter (sorry about that). If you think the story is moving too slowly, tell me! TELL ME EVERYTHING. I don't think there's much that's conceptually too complicated in this chapter (probably since this chapter is Shizuo-centric. The next two chapters will be kind of complicated and probably a bit confusing since they're more Izaya-centric, so I'll leave some explanations and summaries in the end-of-chapter notes. But, please, let me know in the comments if you liked it or didn't and how I can improve!)
> 
> Also, the part in italics about the property damage fees being half a million yen--that's a completely arbitrary number. I believe that comes out to four or five thousand dollars USD, but i'm also pretty sure that the amount of damage Izaya and Shizuo would create daily would surpass that by a lot. I have no idea how insurance works, either (is there special insurance against natural disasters? Would Shizuo and Izaya be considered natural disasters? lmao), and then there's the fact that Izaya would probably find ways to blackmail everyone so he doesn't have to pay at least half of the fees they accumulate anyway. So I just put half a million yen cuz I needed a number. :P


	3. because you hate me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another kind of confusing chapter. Haha. Sorry... XP

It wasn’t pride. It wasn’t hope. It wasn’t even persistence.

 

It was just a bad habit of Izaya’s, a symptom of his never-ending quest for knowledge.

 

 _It’s okay_ , he had told himself.

 

 _I can bear this_ , he had convinced himself.

 

 _I will not be defeated_ , he lied to himself. For someone who makes a living by digging up the dirty truth, he is awfully good at turning a blind eye to it.

 

And so, even as he struggled against the dizziness and nausea, against the pounding headache and the sharp pain that felt like a cracked rib (or two, or three, or maybe it was a cracked something else that he wouldn’t bother to name), Izaya convinced himself that he was still in control. That is, after all, who he is. Orihara Izaya is always in control. Even when things happen that are outside of his calculations, they inevitably get factored in and fall into his master plan anyway.

 

 _I saw this coming_ , he admitted to himself.

 

The battle had already been lost, he knew. But that did not mean he had to admit to the defeat. He would lose every battle from here on out, he would forfeit every time they challenged each other again, but it would be worth it. In exchange for victory, Izaya had gained what he always sought after: information.

 

Even as he struggled to stand, struggled to breathe, struggled to not cry out every time he moved, Izaya felt that he stood above them all. He was above humanity--untouchable, indomitable. His impregnable, godlike status could only be matched with one other’s, and that person was standing in front of him, panting like a rabid dog, while he was in his element.

 

Because Izaya was doing what he did best: he _knew_.

 

In exchange for victory, in exchange for the bruises and the scrapes and the cracked ribs and the vulnerability, he had finally achieved what he had been after all this time. The one, last, remaining mystery.

 

He took a shallow, shivering breath, before tilting his face up, raising his chin at that one exact angle he used to practice in front of the mirror every morning back when he had still been in high school--back when he had just started. From this moment on, it would just be routine.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

_Shit._

 

Shizuo tried, in vain, to stop his hands from shaking.

 

_Shit. Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit…_

_Why does this always happen? Why does he always do this me?_

His fingers curled into fists, crumbling the drywall beneath them, dusting Izaya’s hair and shoulders with a grainy powder. He tried not to panic and attempted to regain what meagre control he had over his emotions.

 

Had he done it? After all this time, had he finally hurt Izaya?

_Izaya._

_Izaya._

_Izaya, Izaya, Izaya, Izaya IzayaIzayaIzayaIzaya…_

Without realizing it, he had begun whispering his lover’s name under his breath like a desperate prayer.

 

_Izaya, why do you always make me so mad?_

 

_Why do you  make me feel these things?_   
  


As if answering his silent question, Izaya brought his eyes up to meet Shizuo’s, with a look that was hauntingly familiar.  Even as he slid weakly down the wall, he was smiling that devious smile that made the edges of his gaze jagged and triggered that inexplicable tingle in Shizuo’s spine. The blood that dribbled out of the corner of his mouth accentuated the thin curve of his smirk as he watched Shizuo, amused, out of the corner of his eyes, proudly and recklessly baring the aquiline curve of his neck.

 

“What is it, beast? Begging for forgiveness now, are you?” His voice was slightly breathless but soft, taunting, laced with just enough contempt to tickle the flood of emotion that Shizuo was desperately trying to hold back.

 

Izaya could see it, the guilt, the confusion, the frustration, the self-hatred. He could see remorse in the shuddering breaths Shizuo took, in the trembling of his hands, in the way he slowly kneeled, in the way his eyebrows furrowed and his teeth clenched as the familiarity of the scene hit him.

 

But Izaya would teach him. There was nothing familiar about this situation. Orihara Izaya was different, nothing like the others. And it was up to him to make the stupid beast see that ( _it doesn’t hurt, it doesn’t hurt, nothing can hurt me_.)

 

He continued.

 

“Did you forget, Shizu-chan? Even a stupid beast like you should know that I’m not that easy to defeat. Even you should be able to remember this. Don’t you know who I am?”  
  


There was a flash in those brown eyes, a slight twitch in his right eye, a deeper furrow of the brows.

 

“Since you’re so stupid, I guess I’ll have to remind you. I, Shizu-chan, am _Orihara Izaya_. I’m the flea, the blood-sucking parasite, the one who ruined your life, the one that you hate. Really, now, did you really forget?”

 

Shizuo’s breaths were coming out faster now, more labored. His trembling hands had turned into fists that shook, trying to hold back the tides of rage that had begun to surge through him again.

 

 _Don’t fall for it_. Shizuo tried to control himself.

 

_Don’t fall for his games. Wait until you know what he wants._

 

_Don’t fall for it._

 

“You hate me because you can’t get rid of me. I always come back. You can try as hard as you can to kill me, but you can’t. You can throw anything my way, but I’ll always dodge it. As long as you are here, I will always be somewhere near you.” _Even when you don’t want me to be._

 

Shizuo remembers the stench of a flea  mingling with the smell of stagnant gutter water and the pricks of anger on the edge of his consciousness as he stalked through the streets of Ikebukuro night after night, day after day, chasing, chasing, always searching...

 

“You can try as hard as you can, but at the end of the day, it always remains the same--You’re here. I’m here. Nothing has changed.” _Everything is as it should be._

 

...Always searching, but always unable to grasp that fur-fringed coat, fingers always failing to hold that dancing shadow. The volcano inside of him was coughing up sulfur and smoke, red-hot lava pulsing violently against the surface of his heart.

 

The growl that rumbled from Shizuo’s chest and vibrated through Izaya’s bones gave him comfort. He felt Shizuo’s hands gripping his shoulders, squeezing, squeezing, squeezing, making him bleed from the glass and making him hurt from the week-old bruises and aching bones. In return, he reached out and gripped that coarse blonde hair, pressed their faces even closer, until all he could see were Shizuo’s brown eyes, flashing with that familiar anger, and all Shizuo could see was the red, red, red of Izaya’s irises as they stared at him, through him, unblinking.

  
  


“Don’t you get it, Shizu-chan?”

 

_Don’t fall for it._

 

“This is nothing.”

 

_Don’t fall for it._

 

“Don’t fool yourself. I’m godlike and above all humans; you can’t even touch me.”

 

_Don’t fall for it!_

 

“You will never be able to hurt me.”

 

Izaya’s shoulders ached, and he had to stop himself from flinching and recoiling. Shizuo’s hands were shaking now, every muscle in his body taut, stiff. Izaya pulled away, so he could assess the look in Shizuo’s eyes. The classic smirk that everyone in Tokyo either dreaded or hated was back on his face.

 

“You shouldn’t try to hold back around me, Shizu-chan. Because, I, unlike everyone else, can hurt you, too.”

 

His eyes softened for a moment, and when he leaned forward to press their lips together it was tentative, slow, and chaste. Too good to be real. Too good for Izaya--and  so the wicked smirk returned and the teeth came out. Shizuo could feel it as Izaya bit and tore at his lip, before he flicked out the tip of his tongue to lick away the blood. When Izaya pulled away again, his grin was an ugly, red smear.

 

“Even if you do manage to hurt me, I can return the favor just as easily.” The mocking triumph in his voice made his eyes glitter strangely, and the lava rushed through Shizuo’s veins, still singing a hymn of destruction, death, and purpose.

 

What was his purpose? What was he doing?   
  


 

_Just get on with it, stupid flea! What is it? What are you trying to say?!?_

 

“I know everything. Your insecurities. Your frustrations. Your weakness. Your rage. Your pain.”

 

Shizuo wasn’t quite sure when Izaya had taken out his switchblade again, but he saw the deliberateness with which Izaya had swung his hand. The scar, made so long ago on the day they had first met, was reopened.

 

“I have power, Shizu-chan. You gave it to me. You gave it to me by hating me. You gave it to me by hurting me. I am taking it because I can hurt you just as much as you hurt me or anyone else.”

 

And then the breath hitched in Shizuo’s throat, realization dawning in his eyes. Izaya saw this, and gave him a smile. The knife clattered on the floor and pale fingers cradled his face, palms lingering on hot skin. The smile on Izaya’s face slowly grew until it was wide and slightly off-putting in its manic joy.

 

“So, let me use this power of mine, Shizu-chan.”

 

Shizuo could not tear his eyes from the steadiness--the knowing--in his ruby gaze.

 

_What are you trying to say… Izaya..._

 

“Let me take away the one thing that has kept you from happiness for so long.”

 

“Hate me, if you want. Try to kill me, if you can.”

 

_...Is this…_

 

“You’re free. I--”

 

Shizuo’s hands dropped from Izaya’s shoulders and encircled his waist. He hugged him close, burying his face in his neck, rumpling the soft, black fabric of his shirt underneath his fingers.

 

“--Orihara Izaya--”

 

_...are you..._

 

Izaya dipped his head to nuzzle his ear, and whispered the final words into his ear:

 

“--can take away your guilt.”

 

_...what I’ve been waiting for all this time?_

 

Shizuo remembered the stench of a flea  mingling with the smell of stagnant gutter water and the pricks of anger on the edge of his consciousness as he stalked through the streets of Ikebukuro night after night, day after day, chasing, chasing, always searching. He remembered trying, desperately, to grasp that fur-fringed jacket, to hold that dancing shadow.

 

He remembered red-hot anger swallowing his soul, the satisfying crumbling of steel beneath his hands, the ferocious roar that he would let rip freely ( _Free? Since when had he been free? Since when had he been liberated from the power in his hands, the weight of his body? How had he never noticed?_ ), the terrifying game they would play in streets not meant for the kids they’d been.

 

He remembers wanting to hurt the source of that ringing laughter. Remembers wanting to stop the breath that he now drank from those lips, wanting to crush the brittle bones in that neck with a determination that he knew he should have been frightened of.

 

He remembers broken glass, days of casts and crutches, a silent brother, the sound of ambulances, and destruction, destruction, destruction all around. He knows of that black emptiness that opened inside of him, yawning, expanding, all-encompassing.

 

But here, among the all-too-familiar wreckage( _destruction, destruction, destruction all around_ ) the blackness was gone ( _ambulances, ambulances, where are all the ambulances?_ ).

 

The yield in his bleached yellow hair had gone unheeded. Yet...

 

He was still there, as always.

 

Izaya was still here, with him, as always.

 

He had given into the anger and left destruction in his wake, as always.

 

Of course he had. Some things can never change.

 

And it was then that Shizuo was struck by the weight of his realization. It was then that he whom none could defeat, who stood stronger than all, who thought he had been alone all this time, crumbled and gave away before the feet of one Orihara Izaya.

 

Nothing had changed.

 

Everything was the same. Izaya was still wearing that damnable grin, had stood and laughed-- _laughed_ \--as he always did, under direct confrontation with Shizuo.

 

He hadn’t destroyed anything; he hadn’t been capable of destroying what he sought to crush, after so many years of ruining everything he had sought to hold. His hands gripped Izaya with the same strength and force they had always possessed, but Izaya did not crumble to dust under his fingers.

 

As a man of such enormous strength, his physicality had transcended that of the world around him. He refused to touch anything he knew or owned or loved, afraid that it would crumble away with the touch of a finger, like the disruption of a fleeting illusion, ripped to pieces with no effort. Nothing was solid, everything was malleable; nothing could stand next to the great Shizuo without bending. Everything gave away with no effort, as though the laws of the physical world were too much for him. It was a world of uncertainty. A world of anger. A world of fear.

 

A world of isolation.

 

But Izaya...Izaya.

 

Izaya was solid. Frail, thin, manipulative, annoying--but real. He could feel the framework of his shoulders underneath the black shirt, could still gripping the bony protrusions, could feel the solidness of his flesh.

 

Izaya is all he really knows, the only thing that proved to not be an illusion, the only thing he has ever really touched, felt, explored. The one thing that failed to give away, that failed to yield.

  
  
  
  


Izaya...was his world.

  
  
  
  
  
  


And so, when Shizuo brought their lips back together for another kiss, he closed his eyes, gave in, and trusted.

 

Underneath the blood and the roughness of Izaya’s chapped lips, he tasted it. It was bittersweet, and somehow familiar. Tangy, salty, sharp.

 

Izaya had won. He finally attained the piece of knowledge that had been out of his reach for so long.

 

_I know, Shizu-chan._

 

As the kiss turned deeper and transitioned into something more, Shizuo licked away, trying to place the distinct flavor that he found on Izaya’s skin.

 

_I understand._

 

What was it? He knows this taste… alien but familiar, like something long-forgotten or repressed.

 

_You don’t have to be afraid of yourself anymore._

 

The mattress gave away under the solid weight of Izaya’s body, and Shizuo forgot how to think. He still couldn’t place the distinct flavor of Izaya’s skin… but at the moment, he didn’t care.

 

_Shizu-chan… I finally understand this pain of yours. This loneliness. This thing that we have in common._

_If I take away yours, will you take away mine?_

_I promise to never let you go. In return… hold me closer._

_Crush me or cherish me. Save me or ruin me. From now on, nothing will change._

_Without guilt, you are without fear. Without fear, you are without pain._

_I free you from guilt, and you chain yourself to me._

_I am yours. You are mine. And this is how it should be._

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Basically, what Izaya is trying to say, is that Shizu-chan doesn't have to be careful or fearful around him. Because Shizuo "hates" him, he theoretically shouldn't feel regret for hurting Izaya. And because Izaya can hurt him back, he can return the favor, thereby relieving Shizuo of the regret he feels whenever he lets his anger take control of him. Shizuo's greatest fear is his own strength. In other words, his greatest fear is guilt--the guilt that comes with being the cause of destruction and pain. Izaya, being as he is and loving all of humanity, is probably one of the few people that can accept and admire every part of Shizuo, including the destruction and anger that has come to define his existence. However, because Shizuo "hates" him and because Izaya is capable of making him forget about his guilt and regret (even if simply by pushing his buttons and being a total asshole), Izaya frees him from his fear of himself, thereby liberating him and allowing him to let his emotions run free. In this way, Izaya gives him an outlet with which he can be himself--and accept all of himself.
> 
>  
> 
> I don't know if you got all of that from this chapter, but that's what I was trying to express, hehe. I hope it makes sense (this chapter was probably even more incoherent than the first one. I gave up on editing it. Whoops.)


	4. tasting his tears

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! I'm super excited for this chapter. It's way longer than the rest--in fact, i'm pretty sure this one update will double the word count. But there's an action scene! (and the scene that made me decide to rate this M haha) It was fun to write. I've been on and off editing this thing for weeks now, and i think i'm actually satisfied with it. Nearly the entire plot is revealed in this chapter, so if you find it confusing, no worries. i'll leave an explanation/summary in the end notes, like always. However, because this is a lengthy chapter and there's a lot I want to say, some of the explanation will be left for the next chapter's beginning of chapter notes. Either way, if you ever get confused, there will be an explanation available for you somewhere.
> 
> Also:  
> i. Izaya's POV (and the M rated section, you can skip if you don't like it. I don't think it's particularly smutty, but I don't know what your personal limits are, so I labelled the sections for reader convenience. If you decide to skip, summary is in the end of chapter notes)  
> ii. Omniscient/3rd person POV (like the previous chapters)
> 
> ^just in case you find the switch in narrative or perspective jarring or confusing. Sorry, I just originally wrote the first part in Izaya's POV, and I tried editing it to help transition between the two sections more smoothly, but i think the first person pov makes it more vivid. I hope you like it!

 

 

 

i.

 

I used to think that he never felt sadness. I think that’s what drew me to him at first--that thin veneer of invincibility that fooled even me, for a short while. I used to think that his strength gave him the right to recklessness, that he was untouchable, that he never had cause for anything but dumb confidence and mindless anger.

 

_But that’s not how it is, is it, Shizu-chan?_

 

It’s not that he doesn’t feel. It’s that he doesn’t _know_ how to feel. Though I say he’s a monster, there’s so much human in him that sometimes it hurts to look at him. And though he doesn’t understand how or why, it remains a fact that all humans feel. And because he doesn’t understand the _humanity_ that churns constantly within him--pain, loneliness, rejection, shame, sadness--he rages. All of it is the same to him--he has no need to label his emotions. His reaction to them all are the same; they throw him off-balance all the same.

 

Shizu-chan is never just angry. He’s everything, everyday, all the time, all at once.

 

And maybe that’s why. Maybe that’s why being with him gives me this indescribable feeling. Maybe this is why, moments like these, when he heaves over me, when I clutch at his back because I never ever intend to let go, when my thighs are shaking from the exertion, when I can feel his breath against my cheek and there’s nothing to separate us but skin--just skin, that thin barrier that I know is so easy to breach because we’ve already done so so many times before--

 

\--Rage is all he knows. Part of me is certain he has never cried before. No, Heiwajima Shizuo has never curled up and buried his face into his hands, or into his pillow, or clutched at his bedsheets and sobbed until his chest hurt. He retreats deep within himself and stands in the middle of the havoc that he wreaks  around him, grasping everything within reach and throwing it far, far away from him in desperation. As if by ejecting them from his presence will protect him, will protect them, will take away the burden and the pain--as if it could take away what he feels.

 

So that’s why, when I bury my face into the crook of his neck and flick out my tongue to taste the sweat on his skin,  it’s bittersweet, and somehow familiar. Tangy, salty, sharp. Like something long-forgotten or repressed.

 

Tears.

 

Tears of happiness, sadness, frustration--it’s all there. Except this time, he isn’t throwing things away. He is burying into them, holding them--me--close. For a moment, I’m the everything he’s ever wanted, the everything he’s ever lost, the everything he’s ever destroyed and wished he could take back. For a moment, his hands aren’t crushing anything--they’re cradling something. On my hip and in my hair, cupping my cheek and tracing my jaw, his hands follow the curve of the leg flung over his waist and coaxes the thrum of the blood in my veins into an unbearable torrent. They cradle me and I’m lost in the warmth, drinking in the unshed tears he never knew he had locked inside of him.

 

Not that I know what real tears taste like. No, no, no…

 

I am Orihara Izaya. I don’t know sadness or weakness. I am above tears. And humanity.

 

Of course I’ve never tasted tears.

 

He roars, majestic and beautiful, above me. My mouth falls open and I scream along with him, harmonizing and striking a chord of passion and rebellion, arching off the bed--scrabbling because no, no, no, you’re not getting away from me, I’ll keep you with me forever, there’s no escape, never, never, never ever ever.

 

And when he grips me by the nape of my neck and slams our lips together, I can feel myself tumbling into the ocean of unshed tears, into the birthing place of his indomitable rage, and in my mind I reach out blindly to where I know his heart is.

 

_Shizu-chan._

 

I breathe his name and my eyes flutter shut as I sigh with the familiar weight that slumps and settles on top of me. My fingers find the roots of his hair, and I have to resist the urge to tuck his head under my chin or shower kisses all over his face. He gives out a lazy grumble and tilts his chin up, giving me a wet, sloppy kiss (smack!) on the cheek before rolling to the side and pulling me into his arms.

 

_Ah, yes_ , I think as I feel his chest expanding and collapsing with long, slow breaths.

 

_Shizu-chan has never, and will never, know tears._

 

_He’s perfect._

_I’ll do anything, anything at all, to keep him perfect._

__  
  


And that’s why, after everything falls silent except for the bustle of cars outside and the deep rumble within his slumbering chest, I’m slipping from the bed, the sheets nothing more than a cool whisper on my bare legs.

 

It’s easy, so easy, to pull on a black shirt and pants, to shrug on my old fur-lined jacket, to twirl my knife in one hand and slip it into my pocket. Less than five minutes later, I’m glancing over my shoulder, watching the rise and fall of my blankets, wondering if the expression on my face is as gentle as it feels.

 

The only thing that signals my departure is the soft click of the door closing behind me.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

ii.

 

The air outside tastes like dull steel and worn-out tire marks. No one notices Izaya as he wanders the streets, flitting between alleyways and behind buildings, like a vespertine moth fleeing dawn. During his flight, Izaya likes to imagine what everything looks like from a bird’s eyes’ view--from the perspective a person waiting for the right moment to jump off one of the rooves of the towering buildings that he slips past. Down on the street, he leaves nothing but the dark flutter of a worn jacket, the whisper of fur brushing past, the soft press of sneakers turning around the corner. But from above, he likes to imagine the city swirling around him as he pulls the strings of fate along in the tight grip of his fist.

 

There’s no use hiding from the best informant in Tokyo, they know. Izaya expects to be walking into the waiting arms of the Awakusu-Kai. No more tricks, no more games.

 

Except there are always tricks and games.

 

When he skips past the final corner, he sees a familiar white suit. Shiki looks almost as though he is glowing, faintly, a scarred angel coming for retribution, bright against a dank backdrop of sneering thugs, cracked tar, and washed-up sewage.

 

 

 

_“I’m giving you a choice, Orihara. Think it over. Be prepared to give me an answer before your next job.”_

_“A choice! How wonderful! Those are hard to come by these days, wouldn’t you agree, Shiki-san?”_

 

 

 

In twenty minutes, Heiwajima Shizuo will wake up alone in his lover’s apartment to the shrill ringing of his cellphone.

 

In twenty-five minutes, a shooter will set up on the fifth floor of the building facing the street.

 

In half an hour, Hanejima Yuhei, Japan’s favorite young actor, will drive past a street opening in the upper part of Shinjuku.

 

In forty minutes, ambulance and police cars will flood the area with sirens and pulsing lights, all nearby buildings will be demolished or severely damaged, Heiwajima Shizuo will be charged for murder, and Heiwajima Kasuka will be dead.

 

This is the future that Orihara Izaya predicts.

 

He imagines his Shizu-chan kneeling by a car with a shattered windom, among cracked pavement, fire, rubble, and the wailing sound of nearing sirens. He imagines the look of fire and hatred on his face--directed towards him ( _I_ _t's your fault, it's your fault, everything is your fault, if Shizu-chan blames you he'd be right and you have no right to complain. It's not like you've given him a reason to trust you, anyway.)_

 

This is the future that Orihara Izaya will prevent.

 

“Good evening, Shiki-san!”

 

“Orihara.”

  
  


Izaya takes a moment to assess the situation, scanning the faces before him and pulling up memories of data regarding Shiki’s personnel.

  
  


The man to Shiki’s right is a martial arts practician. Usually, he accompanies Shiki for intimidation purposes. Katanas may be old-fashioned, but they lessen the number of accidental shootings and loose ends, like misfires, lost bullets, and the undue attention that gunfire brings. Plus, there’s nothing like the glint of metal, the hiss of a blade swinging through the air, and a silent killer pressing a blade against your neck to get the point across. Hence, intimidation.

 

But in this case, he’s here because he may be the only one quick and agile enough to counter Izaya’s parkour and knife skills. The man to Shiki’s left clearly has a gun hidden underneath his jacket. He doesn’t even attempt to be subtle about it--he’s there as a warning. But he isn’t to be taken lightly, either. And the muscle behind Shiki is there for Shiki’s protection.

 

Izaya wouldn’t stand a chance in a face-off. That’s not his style anyway. If he tries to escape now, he can get away with a minor bullet grazing and perhaps a cut or two that will need stitches, but there’s no way he’ll be able to touch Shiki and get out without at least a near-fatal injury.

 

“What are you doing in a place like this, on such a fine evening, Shiki-san?”

 

Of course, Shiki doesn’t take chances. The area they are in is just large enough to hold a decent fight, but small enough to contain it. Behind Izaya is the building where the sharp shooter will set up for Hanejima Yuhei’s assassination in twenty five minutes. Flanking them on both sides are a few run-down buildings that are abandoned and set for demolition in exactly 6 days. Izaya would bet his _laptop_ that there are sharp-shooters on both sides.

 

“Do I have to fire you? You should know, Izaya.”

 

_How important are the results of this face-off of ours, to Shiki? How many back-up plans does he have? How much has his patience been tested--how much mercy is he willing to give?_

Izaya measures the steadiness of the gaze directed at him.

 

“In the business of information, validation is of the utmost importance, Shiki-san. You wouldn’t have hired me in the first place if I didn’t make sure my information was always accurate.”

 

The frost hiding behind those irises creep in.

 

“Your information-gathering is top-notch, as always, Izaya. Though, perhaps you should brush up on your Russian skills?”

 

_Two, then._

 

Two sharp-shooters. One on his right, one on his left. The left has easier access to the building behind him--his top priority is to get into position before Hanejima Yuhei drives past. The one on the right has a higher position. He’s set up on the roof, hidden by an old tarp that has its edges draped over the side of the building. His top priority is to make sure Izaya won’t get out alive, no matter how good he is at slipping away.

 

_So that’s how it’s going to be, eh, Shiki?_

 

“Don’t be so sore, Shiki-san. You still got what you wanted in the end, didn’t you? Things worked out much better for both sides, wouldn’t you say so?”  
  


Neither deemed it necessary to voice the fact that, as a result of Izaya tweaking a few words as translator during the meeting with the Russian mafia, the Awakusu-Kai lost territory to a rivaling gang, despite the successful arms deal. Within a few months, Shiki had won the territory back, but during the resulting scuffle one of his trusted subordinates--a friend of the martial arts practician, no doubt, judging from the way he bristled--was maimed, resulting in his death during an ambush a few weeks later. In the process, a conspiracy against Shiki had been revealed.

 

Blame Izaya’s boredom and meddling ways for the fact that the information regarding the conspiracy had been withheld until the day before its attempted execution. Izaya had weedled a hefty sum of money out of the deal, which he used to buy a new TV and a bigger couch because he knows Shizuo doesn’t have a blu-ray player for all the DVDs he buys of the movies his brother plays in, and he has a bad habit of falling asleep on the couch after downing too many glasses of milk. Both items were destroyed within a week, but Izaya likes to convince himself that it’s the thought that counts. And in the end, despite his meddling and withholding of crucial information, Izaya’s timely reveal is one of the only reasons the Awakusu-Kai is still at large and feared more than ever.

 

But Shiki doesn’t take chances.

 

Izaya’s been reckless--and he’s become a wild card. He knowingly set up the situation in a way where clients from all three sides of the conflict, the Russian mafia, Awakusu-Kai, and the conspirators would come to him for information, and he gave them the information that would achieve what he thought to be the most entertaining result. Not only that, but despite their long-running business relations, Izaya purposely withheld crucial information from Shiki despite the many opportunities and meetings they had had where the issue would have been relevant and accounted for. He couldn't help it--it's in his natures. Plus, Izaya has always had an affinity for three-way battles.

 

Previously, letting him loose in the city was too dangerous, so the Awakusu-Kai have been loyal clients of his simply for an excuse to keep an eye on his movements. His skills, over the years, have proved to be invaluable, which let him get away with his slippery handle on words and unbiased stance in the city’s affairs.

 

But something’s changed.

 

“Tell me, Shiki-san. How’s my ex-secretary doing? She has a charming personality, doesn’t she? I miss her around the office sometimes. Perhaps you’d like to pass along a message for me? I believe she owes me a phone call.”

 

He could see it in his mind’s eye. Shiki, with his legs crossed, cigarette smoke heavy in the air, Namie refusing to bow before him, eyes cold and glossy hair falling behind her shoulders.

 

She would’ve started with a strong, logical argument. What would the basis have been?

 

“She’s quite fond of you. She’s also quite useful. I can see why you had her work for you for so long.”

 

Ah, yes. Of course. Common interests. But what?

  
  
  
  
  


 

 

_“IIIIZZAAAAAAAYYAAAAAAA!!!!!!”_

_He flicks open his switch blade and slices an elegant arc through the air with a smirk on his face. He’s familiar with this--with the feeling of coldness at his back, the stench of cigarettes, the dizzying rush of adrenaline, the way the world around him becomes muted all except for his focus on one thing--his Shizu-chan._

_His shirt sticks to his arms and back as he dashes, laughing, down the street. The people around them clear out, and the sun beats down on the pavement, heating it under the soles of his shoes. He pushes off the nearest wall and grabs a restaurant sign, swinging around it and launching himself off a nearby window sill to grab the ladder attached to the building next to him and land on the roof._

_He just barely dodges the street sign that goes hurtling past his ear._

__  
  
  
  
  
  


The katana has been slid an inch out of his sheath.

 

Izaya needs a plan. He needs to stall.

 

Izaya slides his hands casually into his pocket, fingers drumming with nervous anticipation along the hilt of his blade.

 

“Tell me, Shiki-san. How did your meeting go? Was she wearing that ugly green sweater of hers? I’m sure she was. Could you tell that she had been crying? Or is she still waiting for this plan of yours to succeed before allowing herself to?” Izaya gives his most charming grin before continuing. He purposely flowers his words because he knows Shiki dislikes it when he doesn't get to the point. They both know that Namie isn't the kind of woman that takes to tears. No--Namie is merciless, cold, and vengeful.

  
Shiki narrows his eyes.

  
  
  
  
  


_When Shizuo lands a few feet away, the vending machine in his hands has already been dented by his fists. He launches it at Izaya with another growl, and Izaya  skips to the side and performs a perfect aerial over it, twisting his body slightly so he can reach out and grab the can of green tea that he noticed had fallen loose, just as it flies out of the broken machine. When he lands, holding the can triumphantly in his right hand, switchblade in his left, he is ready to turn and run. There’s a loud screech and the sound of twisting metal, and he chances a glance below him._

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


“I’m sure she gave you the statistics. So what’s the plan? I’ll have you know that Namie usually only chances gambles that have at least a 95% of ending in her favor. If she told you that your chances are 87% or lower, she’s probably tricking you. What else did she offer you? That hard drive she stole from me had a lot of juicy bits in it. The man behind you is in debt, you know. I happen to know a few debt collectors that have his name on their lists. Or perhaps you’d like to know the bedroom fantasies of the man you have hidden right now, with a gun pointed at my head? Be careful--child molestation isn’t so easy to cover up. You don’t want that kind of attention directed at the Awakusu-Kai, do you? I can help you out with that. But don’t worry--my abilities have not been compromised. I’ve memorized everything on that hard-drive. I also have it backed up, of course. As you said, my information-gathering skills are still intact. _Nothing_ ,” Izaya locks eyes with Shiki to get his point across, “ _Nothing_ has been compromised.”

 

Shiki doesn’t even blink.

 

“Namie has informed me of these details. Thank you for your concern, Izaya. I do not doubt your skills.”

 

No, of course he wouldn’t. Shiki knows better.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


_The vending machine landed on a large, new sign for a restaurant that just opened up. At night, the lights would’ve sparked and given off a colorful glow, but as it’s the middle of the day, the sign has been shut off. A recent addition--the sign had probably been installed less than two days before. This is not what has caught his attention, however._

_What catches him off-guard are the familiar faces blinking up at him, watching as the vending machine and sign fall._

_Raira uniforms. One, in athletic shorts and shirt. Big boobs. The other, standard school uniform, braids, glasses. Flat-chested. Izaya never did get the chance to tease Mairu about how she and Kururi had not been equally gifted in that area, despite being twins._

_There’s a couple that stands near them, and they’re closer to Izaya. He doesn’t pay them any attention._

_He should have._

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


“I can assure you that you don’t need Namie and her group of mad scientists to take over Nebula, Shiki.”  
  


His voice has dropped the previous levity it once held, and he purposely drops the honorific. It’s nearing the time--he must make sure Shiki never gets the chance to make that call. In the meantime, all he can do is pray his deduction is correct. What else could Namie have offered Shiki, in order to smooth over their newfound business relationship? What other possible ground could they have found in common? Even if both were interested in taking him out, Namie herself is a force to be reckoned with. It should have taken more than that to convince Shiki.

 

18 minutes.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


_It’s only after he realizes he twisted his leg, after the crowd begins to murmur, after he realizes that his sisters are safe and alive, if a bit dazed from the rough tackle he’d given them, that he looks over to see the unusually beautiful european face, the strange scar, and the blood._

_Harima Mika. And…_

_Yagiri Seiji._

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


If he had been given the time to make the choice, would he have saved them instead of his sisters?

 

No. Of course not. It was yandere creepo and crazy stalker versus his _sisters_. Kururi and her half-formed sentences, Mairu and her twisted plans that rival Izaya’s own, their weird incestual relationship that he could not give two fucks about--their red eyes, just like his own.

 

His sisters.

 

And Yagiri Namie’s brother.

 

At the cost of Heiwajima Shizuo’s brother and the nation’s favorite male actor.

 

Izaya is reminded of why he loves to play with humans.

 

 

 

 

He doesn’t have time--he knows. So he springs into action instead.

 

The katana is out now, and the only thing in his vision are the eyes of his opponent; the only thing in his ears are the pounding of his heart. His blade is shorter than the other’s, but he’s faster, and unpredictable. He evades the first slice towards his torso with the twist of his shoulders--just barely. But the other has to break form in order to evade the uppercut he makes towards his jugular vein.

 

A sweep with his left leg, and the man leaps back. A feint to his right while the man doesn’t have the chance to shift his weight, a precise jab aimed towards the kidney--miss. Izaya has to bend over backwards and he almost drops his knife in order to evade the next swipe--it’s so fast he can feel the air move in the aftermath of the blade, which had been sharpened to the point where, when Izaya rights himself again, he notices his bangs are just a bit shorter than they were a second ago.

 

His eyes flicker toward Shiki, who has reached into his pocket.

  
  


19 minutes.

  
  


He has to keep moving.

 

 

 

 

He dashes towards the man with the gun, startling him, and knocks the gun out of his hand. He doesn’t kick it away--he’s not in some stupid action movie--he catches it and tucks it in the waistband of his pants, hoping the safety was still on and that he won’t accidentally shoot his nuts off at some point during the rest of the fight. If he lives through this, it’d be nice to keep those, he thinks to himself. A sharp hit to the back of the man’s head with the hilt of his knife, and he’s unconscious--out for the next five minutes. It takes a fraction of a second for Izaya to calculate the angle between him and the roof behind him as he eyes the cracked window in the building in front of him, before he drops to his knees and rolls to his left, avoiding the kick that was aimed towards his face while letting the bullet that had been aimed for his head shatter the pavement.

 

Shiki holds the cell phone up to his ear. Izaya’s hands are shaking, and he’s sweating too much.

  
  


20 minutes.

  
  


He almost slips--catches himself, skinning his palm, launches himself desperately towards Shiki--

  
  


His wrist, already bruised from his fight with Shizuo, is grabbed by the muscle man, and he knows judging by the force with which it’s twisted that he won’t be able to form a fist with it for a good month after this. With his other hand, he throws the knife--he can feel how everyone’s breath stops and knows their gaze is centered on the tip of his blade--it cracks the phone screen and Shiki drops the phone.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


_Is it over?_

__  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Shiki reaches up to pluck the unlit cigarette from out from the corner of his mouth. A signal, if he’s ever seen one. Izaya tenses.

 

Thirty seconds, then. Thirty seconds, and the first gunman will be headed towards his next vantage point--taking into account his first priority. Izaya will then only have to worry about dodging bullets from the second gunman stationed on the roof of the opposite building. The plan is still on, apparently, even if Shizuo doesn’t get the call.

 

_Just what are they after?_

 

He’s thrown to the ground, but he protects his head--he can’t afford to get dizzy and compromise himself. Plus, head injuries are a bitch; Shinra always says so.

 

Underground doctors be damned, though. His hands are busy protecting his head--he doesn’t have time to draw the gun before a kick is aimed towards his chest.

 

The wind is knocked out of him and he chokes; the kick misses due to his reflexes, but it still lands alarmingly close to his cracked and aching ribs, squarely on bruises he had accumulated on his side from jumping into the corner of the dresser. He can feel the fresh scabs and scratches on his back bleeding again as they chafe against the fabric of his shirt. He still somehow finds it in himself to roll over to evade the katana, and then he rolls over his shoulder and backwards--he’s finally on his feet again, Orihara Izaya should _never_ be looked dow--

 

No time for such thoughts. He turns his back towards the first building, he knows the gunman should be gone by then, and has to steady the gun with both hands.

  
  


22 minutes.

  
  


It doesn’t do much good--he’s forced to move before he can steady his trigger finger, skidding to the right to avoid the gunshot he knows is headed his way, plus he hasn’t had the time to analyze whether he should shoot the muscle man first or the man with the katana--

 

He hears the gunshot, sees the missed shot shatter at the exact angle he’d predicted it would on the pavement to his left.

 

A second later, he realizes that he’s also lost feeling in his legs.

  
  
  
  


_Wait, what?_

  
  
  
  


He crumples forward, dropping the gun, hands over his abdomen--

  
  
  


Of course.

  
  
  


His hands are trembling but he’s smiling, is that him laughing? _It can’t--_

 

Shiki doesn’t take chances.

  
  


 

 

 

 

 

23 minutes.

  
  


 

 

 

 

 

 

The third gunman steps out from where he was hidden, letting the door to what had once been an emergency back exit for the dilapidated building behind Izaya close behind him. The gun in his hand is smoking, and it has a silencer over the barrel.

  
  
  
  


_Ah. I see. He must’ve been the one to make the call. Was all of that a diversion, then?_

  
  
  
  


He’s still laughing, and the men standing around him tower like skyscrapers--he wants to push someone off of them with his words, make them regret living their lives so pathetically, watch as Celty swoops in with her black shadows-- _everything is cold, so, so cold, their eyes hold no emotion._

  
  


The man he had knocked out begins to stir into consciousness. 24 minutes.

  
  


It feels like an eternity as he lies there, counting down the seconds in his head, imagining the route the first gunman must had taken to reach his second vantage point, and he never stops laughing, even as the tears begin to stream down his cheeks.

  
  


 

 

 

25 minutes.

  
  


 

 

 

 

In the distance, he thinks he hears a beast roar his name.

 

In his left pocket, his cellphone vibrates.

 

His smile is bloody.

 

“Sh-Sh-Shiki-san.”

 

From the corner of his eye, he watches as Shiki lights the cigarette.

 

“Orihara.”

 

“You… don’t take chances, do you...Shiki-san?”

 

The gunman, the one that had surprised him, raises his hand again, finger on the trigger, safety released.

 

“Do you need validation for that piece of information, Izaya? How much would your clients pay for it?”

 

It hurts to chuckle, but Izaya rolls onto his side, wheezing, anyway.

 

He pulls his cellphone from his pocket, smiling as the screen lights up his face. The man with the katana shifts forward, but Shiki holds up his hand in a motion to stop. A few seconds later, a pair of shoes appear in front of his face. Izaya could lick the shoes if he wanted to, from where he lays. He wonders what Shiki’s reaction would be if he did. Would anything change if he tried to show his loyalty now?

 

His right hand is two inches away from the gun he dropped, and it remains limp. Shiki grants it a glance before he plucks the cellphone out of Izaya’s hand.

 

There are two minutes of bated silence. Shiki blows smoke from his mouth, and makes eye contact with the third gunman. They exchange a nod.

 

 

 

28 minutes.

 

 

 

Izaya likes to think that he can feel the vibration of Shizuo’s footsteps as he races in his direction, and the thought of them getting closer makes him smile.

  
  


It’s funny to him, in an ironic way. Izaya never thought he’d die smiling.

  
  


The rest of them turn, and walk away.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


In the footfalls of their departure, there are three more gun shots.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i.  
> So, for any of you who decided to skip it and didn't figure it out already, Izaya and Shizuo do the do. In the process, Izaya claims that Shizuo's anger isn't truly an anger, but an expression of emotion in general. He's incapable of simply feeling sad or frustrated, and when he gets overwhelmed by any negative emotion, he expresses it through rage. It's implied that Izaya finds this part of Shizuo wild and beautiful--majestic, even. Because of this, (and this is where it gets weird and metaphorical it's an important point, so stay with me) Izaya describes Shizuo's skin as tasting like tears. It's supposed to symbolize that their copulation is another way for Shizuo to let out the emotions he was unable to properly express, and in the process Izaya acknowledges and comforts him through their physical and spiritual meeting. 
> 
> Also, the way Izaya described the taste of Shizuo's unshed tears was the same way Shizuo described the taste of Izaya at the end of the last chapter. This is supposed to symbolize the fact that Izaya, too, feels lonely. He simply hides it, unlike the way Shizuo openly and aggressively expresses it. This is one of the reasons why I love this pairing so much--as characters, Shizuo and Izaya are polar opposites. But they are both extreme on a spectrum of personality types, and this extremity puts them in ironically similar positions in which they are isolated or misunderstood by society. It also makes their clashing much more violent, chaotic, and all around angsty <3
> 
>  
> 
> ii.  
> During one of their previous fights, a vending machine Shizuo had thrown knocked down a restaurant sign. Izaya notices his sisters are in the way, and he saves them. But, in exchange for saving his sister, he is unable to save Harima Mika and Yagiri Seiji, who end up being crushed by the vending machine and restaurant sign. As a result, Namie is devastated by her brother's death and quits her job as Izaya's secretary. She steals some of his information, and turns to the Awakusu-Kai, offering them a deal in which both parties would both benefit. 
> 
> In the past, when acting as translator between the Awakusu-Kai and the Russian Mafia, Izaya decided he wanted to be a little shit and purposely tweaked some of the translations. While the arms deal was successful, somehow some vital pieces of information were lost during this translation and costed the Awakusu-Kai part of their territory. In their efforts to win this territory back, some of their men were hurt/maimed. At the same time, Izaya was aware of a conspiracy within the Awakusu-Kai that had planned to rebel against Shiki and take over (I haven't seen drrrx2 or read the light novels--I just assume from what I read before that Shiki is the head of the Awakusu-Kai. I know there's someone else named Akabayashi but I don't know much about him so I just left him out). Izaya watched the situation from the sidelines and dealt information to the Russian Mafia, Shiki, and the Awakusu Kai conspirators because he's... well... Izaya. In the end Shiki triumps, but he's learned not to trust Izaya.
> 
> Namie uses this knowledge and offers to join forces with him to take down Nebula (I have no idea why the Awakusu-Kai would want to take down Nebula, but let's pretend Nebula is a threat to them for the sake of logic and staying true to what I perceive to be Namie's and Shiki's characters), if he helps her out with a plan. In order to make Izaya suffer the way she did, she wants to indirectly attack him through Shizuo. But Shizuo is a troublesome target, as well. Therefore, they plan to target Kasuka.
> 
> Their plan: Call Shizuo right before assassinating him,. Kill Kasuka before his eyes. Shizuo then predictably goes on a rampage and destroys the city. Since Kasuka is more widely known and Yuhei Hanejima, their relationship wouldn't be widely known and Shizuo would be charged with murder--of his own brother. Also, he'd blame Izaya, since this seems like something Izaya would do. Against Namie's lawyers and Shizuo's distrust, Izaya would have a hard time freeing Shizuo from his sentence, and Shizuo would then be executed.
> 
> However, as briefly shown in a short flashback to a past conversation, Shiki goes behind Namie's back and gives Izaya a choice. I decided not to specify how much he revealed, since it isn't really important--Izaya is smart enough to figure it all out by himself anyway. It's implied that Izaya didn't like the choices he was given (you can interpret it any way you want, but it probably would've involved Izaya not interfering with the plan).
> 
> Izaya sets up a situation that would force Kasuka to make a two hour long detour, so he won't pass by the area where the assassination was set to be. He shows up to confront Shiki in order to distract them and prevent them from adjusting to the situation and carrying out the plan. And, of course, he hides all of this from Shizuo.


	5. this rain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So for those that may have been confused last chapter, while fighting against Shiki and his thugs, Izaya had guessed Shiki's plan and calculated that he would have two sharp shooters watching the fight. Throughout the fight, he dodged both the attacks of his opponent and the bullets that were shot towards him (because Izaya in this fic is super OP and he can practically read minds and tell when the sharp shooters are going to shoot and he pinpointed where they would set up their vantage point). However, even though Izaya is super OP he's still human. He miscalculated--there was actually another shooter set up on the ground, hidden in one of the buildings. He had assumed one of the sharp shooters would leave his vantage point and head over to another building to get ready to assassinate Kasuka, and so he turned his back to that building when he guessed that that shooter would leave. So he was unprepared for the third shooter that was also hidden in that building. So while fighting, he dodges a bullet from the remaining sharp shooter that he was aware of, but got hit by the third, hidden sharp shooter he didn't account for. Basically, he miscalculated how important this situation was to Shiki, or how threatened Shiki felt by his unpredictable presence in the city, and guessed wrong when estimating how many sharp shooters Shiki would have brought with him.

The sky darkens, and Shizuo stops in the midst of running to throw his cigarette down and grind it beneath the toe of his shoe. He watches the swirling clouds above, and his nose twitches.

  
  


“Stinking flea.”

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Izaya uses the last of his strength to roll onto his back.

  
  


_Shizu-chan... It looks like it’s going to rain. Do you remember?_

 

_It was raining, too, that day, when we kissed for the first time._

  
  


He struggles to keep his eyes open, just a bit longer, just to prove to himself that he had the power to defy fate, if only for a little while.

  
  


_Don’t come, Shizu-chan._

_You don’t have to worry...not about me…_

  
  
  
  


Shiki steps into the car and stares at the phone in his hands, which is opened to the Dollars website.

 

“Of course,” he mutters to himself. “Orihara Izaya always has a plan.”

 

“Did you say something, Shiki-dono?”

 

Shiki flips the phone closed, and does not reply.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


His face is pale and drawn tight with pain, but his eyes are still bright, glimmering like spilt blood.

 

_I...Orihara Izaya...cannot...be defeated._

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


A few blocks down from where Izaya lays, Celty waves to Shizuo, who stops once again.

  
  


[Hey, Shizuo. What are you in a hurry for? Izaya again?]

 

Shizuo huffs and grumbles a vague and inarticulate reply.

 

[Did you hear?]

 

Celty looks nervous.

 

“Hah? Hear what?”

 

[...It’s your brother. Someone on the Dollars website found out he got back from shooting a scene today. As a result, hoards of his fans are blocking the road. I think he’s stopped and is giving autographs by his car. He’s waiting for a police escort, and they’ll have to make a detour. It’ll take him an extra two hours, at least, to get to his apartment.]

 

Shizuo blinks.

 

“Huh.”

 

There’s a pause. Celty flounders. Shizuo turns away.

 

“Annoying flea. Bye, Celty. I’m going to go look for Izaya.”

 

Celty gives him a wave and turns her head to watch as he slowly steps forward, then begins to run.

  
  


By the time he arrives, most of the windows in the city had been closed and latched shut in preparation for the coming storm. He slips through the alleyway, fishing through his pocket for a cigarette. When he catches sight of the craters left in the street from bullets and the clear signs of a scuffle, he knows he’s found what he’s looking for.

 

Somehow, he knows what he’ll see when he looks up. He wonders if knowing will make him any more prepared. When he stops, there’s what looks like a bundle of dark clothing at his feet.

  
  


The skin is pale and stark-white against the dark black of his clothes. He’s on his back, arms by his sides, and the way the fur on his jacket cradles his cheeks makes him look like a small child.

  
  


Shizuo can’t feel a thing.

  
  


The gravel digs into his knees as he kneels, the weight in his arms feather-light. The air is pungent, the way it can only be seconds before rain, when the moisture rises up to meet the cold, carrying the heavy stink of tar and rubber.

 

Shizuo remembers the stench of a flea  mingling with the smell of stagnant gutter water. He remembers stalking through the streets of Ikebukuro night after night, day after day, chasing, chasing, always searching...

 

His arms curl closer, and he shrinks in on himself. The cigarette falls from the corner of his mouth, brushing the scab on his lower lip. The embers flare with a light breeze, before going out, ashes scattering. Shizuo brushes his lips over smooth skin, looks into frozen, blank, red eyes. The lower half of his shirt sticks uncomfortably close to his skin, soaked through. His nose twitches with the overwhelming scent of iron.

 

Slowly, the sky darkens, and the first sprinkles of rain begin to fall. As it increases into a torrential downpour, Shizuo wonders what happened.

 

Where is it? The unstoppable stream of lava, the anger, the destruction, the blackness.

 

He felt… nothing.

 

Who was he? He was Heiwajima Shizuo.

 

Who is Heiwajima Shizuo? The man that hunted the flea.

 

He raises his head to look up at the bit of sky framed by tall buildings, black and silent and unforgiving, pinning him down with raindrops.

 

_Funny…_

 

The liquid streaks, warm, down his cheeks.

 

_...This rain._

__  
  
  
  
  


_It tastes just like Izaya._

__

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...hi.  <3
> 
> So. That was the last chapter! YAYYYYYY.
> 
> Hmm?
> 
> What's that?
> 
> You didn't notice the Major Character Death warning I put up? 
> 
> Oh. Sorry... that really sucks... for you. XP
> 
>  
> 
> Teehee. So I'm actually kind of sadistic and I secretly enjoy bringing pain to my readers. I hope you cried.
> 
>  
> 
> <3 <3 <3
> 
>  
> 
> Until next time,
> 
> NeverConformEver
> 
>  
> 
> P.S. donthatemeplease
> 
> P.P.S. i love you all and THANKS FOR READING! As sadistic as I am I still hope you enjoyed it as much as I did while writing it. :)
> 
> Bye!


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